Seventeen Candles
by i wear a fez now
Summary: The last time Manfred saw his mother, she was leaving him behind. Oneshot of the tangled Bloor family dynamic through the years. R/R


Disclaimer: Everything = Jenny Nimmo.

A/N: Sorry, I can't remember much about the story because I haven't read the books in such a long time. This is my best attempt.

**Seventeen Candles**

When he was young, he remembered the sound of her violin playing him to sleep. He couldn't have been more than three at that time. She would just sit by his side and somehow manage to play a beautiful song flawlessly and moments later he would curl up in her lap and yawn. There was one time, however, he remembered his parents arguing while he fell asleep on his mother's lap. His father would always be sitting quietly and solemnly to the side exchanging quiet hushed words to Dorothea. In turn, she would whisper into her son's ear, but loud enough for his father, the doctor, to hear.  
>"He's just a child Harold."<br>Dorothea never played her violin for the next two years.

On the day of his fifth birthday, attended solely by his family and some of his grandfather's friends, his mother brought out her violin again to the displeasure of his father. Her nimble fingers effortlessly produced a rendition of 'Happy Birthday', as he blew out the candles on the cake. One of his grandfather's friends, a woman with greying hair called Grizelda had hobbled over to his father and said something along the lines of, "She's being a bad influence on your son." He was young; he couldn't comprehend what they were saying.  
>After Dorothea finished her song to quiet, dim applause. His great-grandfather, who had not seen a wheelchair yet, was sitting very stiffly on a wooden chair. Ezekiel beckoned him. Almost instinctively, he looked to his mother. She seemed frail and stiff, but she spoke the two words that would forever have changed his life.<br>"Go on."

A few weeks after he turned seven, he overheard his parents fighting. He had just returned from his great-grandfather's laboratory where he had willingly gone every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon for lessons. His hopeful eyes peered into his parents' bedroom through a crack in their almost-closed door. Dorothea was sitting in a chair while Harold was standing.  
>"Dorothea, he is a very special child. He's one of the Endowed," his father said pacing up and down the room.<br>"You don't know that Harold. You haven't tested him and I refuse to let you and your horrid family try to kill someone in the process of that, or worse, him!" Dorothea shot back angrily.  
>"You're denying him of a future of possibilities," Harold bellowed.<br>"No, Harold. I'm protecting him from a future of pain and misery and no love and friendship," Dorothea yelled. She stood up and stalked towards the door. "You should've known better!" She opened the door and found the scared face of her young son staring at her.  
>"Manfred," she caught her breath, "I'm sorry, Mum can't talk to you right now." She bolted past him, but not before she gave him a loving pat on the head.<br>He slowly walked into the room, terrified. His father looked at him with a small grimace. "Father," he said quietly, "What does 'endowed' mean?"  
>After Harold told him everything, he decided that his mother was wrong.<p>

A year later, he quietly opened the door to his mother's practice room for when she played the violin. A thrill of fright passed through him. He had been given instructions and he had to complete his job.  
>Dorothea was busy shoving clothes and books into a big leather trunk. This caught him by surprise.<br>"Mother, what are you doing?" He asked slightly bemused. For a moment there, he didn't feel so scared, but that moment was just as fleeting as the speed of light.  
>Dorothea looked at him. Her eyes had been red and puffy and she seemed to be like a twig. Anything might break her now. "Manfred," she said quietly, "I'm leaving. I'm going away to London, to Paris, to New York, wherever the world has space for a violinist."<br>"What?" He asked. His thoughts of fear had gone out of the window and he was replaced with shock and hurt. "Why?"  
>Dorothea murmured something quietly.<br>"Can I come?" His eyes became bright for a second. Dorothea shook her head slowly. "But why?"  
>"I'm sorry Manfred, I have to get away from this place," Dorothea's eyes began to tear up. She twisted the lock on her trunk. Her eyes darted to her violin case; she picked her bow up and began to mutter some more.<br>He felt the tension rising up in him. What was his mother doing? She was going away, leaving him, forever. And that was it? That was the goodbye she gave him?  
>"Look at me!" He yelled.<br>Dorothea's gray eyes drifted from her violin case to him.  
>"You're just going to go away forever?" He cried, "That's it?"<br>"Manfred," Dorothea began.  
>"No!" He interrupted her, "LOOK AT ME!"<br>And that was the start of it all.  
>As he exited the room, he saw his great-grandfather in his wheelchair grinning broadly at him. "How did it go?" Ezekiel asked.<br>"Harder than you said it would be," he admitted.  
>Ezekiel cackled, "That's because your mother was a stubborn, obstinate fool. Extra points for what you've done to her fingers too." At the very mention of that, he shuddered, partly with shame.<br>"Congratulations, Manfred. I have never been more proud of you," Ezekiel beamed.

The last time he ever saw her, she was escaping once again. Except this time she had help from that meddlesome Charlie Bone and this time she succeeded.  
>As he was chasing after them, he saw the look on his father's face. As if on purpose, he stopped in his tracks. Just enough time to let his mother vanish.<br>"Mommy."

A year later, they were celebrating Olivia's (belated) birthday in the middle of the cafeteria. It was illegal according to the school rules, but no one really noticed because Manfred, nor his father or great-grandfather was there. Also because it had been done countless times before, albeit with less spectacle. However, Olivia was Olivia and spectacle was expected.  
>Emma and all her other friends piled her with gifts. There weren't that many, to be honest, but all were wrapped in particularly flashy or neon paper. The biggest and noisiest part of it all was when Fidelio picked up his violin and lead all of them, or all of the people that liked Charlie Bone, which was to say, only a fair percentage, into a chorus of 'Happy Birthday'. While they were in the middle of 'dear Olivi-aaaaaa', Manfred burst into the cafeteria. Everyone was silent. Fidelio's arm had sagged down to a position that his eternally nice teacher Miss Chrystal would even disapprove of.<br>He walked over to Fidelio and whispered, very quietly, into his ear, "Fidelio Gunn, you and no one else, have just earned yourself detention this Saturday."  
>Then with a huff of air, he stormed out of the room.<p> 


End file.
